


Dean

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay, Don't copy to another site, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-27
Updated: 2003-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It was absolutely horrible, but at the same time wonderful. I kept telling myself that. You shouldn’t have to convince yourself that things are great. You shouldn’t believe that there is nothing better out there. But I did have to convince myself. I did believe that I had found the one. The one that was best for me, who would make my life perfect.
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	Dean

I don’t know how or when it started, but it didn’t seem like a surprise. I think it started at the beginning of term, but it didn’t click until the day he set his hand on the small of my back at breakfast. I’m almost positive everything had been building up to this moment. He had been complimenting me and finding reasons to be around me. He started sitting next to me more often at meals. He’d whisper things to me.

I distanced myself further and further from my other friends. They didn’t seem to be noticing anyways. They were all caught up in their own endeavors; Harry was training for the war when he wasn’t in class, and with it being N.E.W.T.s year, Hermione could constantly be found with her nose stuck in a book. Though I was oblivious to that at the time too. Harry had also started seeing Malfoy, and Hermione was seeing Ginny. And I didn’t even know.

It hurt a lot to not have my two best friends talking to me. I began to believe that they hated me; that they had no desire to talk to me. When really it was quite the opposite. Really it was I who wouldn’t talk to them. It was I who was beginning to hate them. I spent more and more time away from them.

I was in hiding for almost three months. It was absolutely horrible, but at the same time wonderful. I kept telling myself that. You shouldn’t have to convince yourself that things are great. You shouldn’t believe that there is nothing better out there. But I did have to convince myself. I did believe that I had found the one. The one that was best for me, who would make my life perfect.

It’s taken me this long to realize what exactly happened. Taken me this long to get over it. I’m not concerned about what will happen to him. I’m just happy that it’s done with. That he is no longer something I will have to worry about. For those who’ve read this far, for those interested in reading further, this is an account of my relationship with Dean Thomas. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to deal with, and I hope I encounter nothing like it again.

*****

Breakfast, always at breakfast; he’d whisper something nice in my ear. “You’re beautiful, Ron. No one sees it but I do.” “Your hair is like fire and I think I have heartburn.” Yes some of the things he told me were merely like cheesy pick-up lines, but they made my day. Others made my heart melt and grow harder at the same time; the ones tinged with what would be my downfall.

They day he rested his hand on me, gently circling his fingers across the small of my back is they day he had me; the day that I became his. The day that everything he told me I believed. It was the most beautiful thing. He would kiss me on his bed at lunch. No one seemed to notice we were missing the same meal every day. His kisses started off gentle. They started off heart warming and romantic.

He would caress me as he kissed me and I was his. He would tell me this too, “You’re mine, Ron. I love you. I would never hurt you.” And I believed him. The way his hands would discover my body, treating every inch like a treasure to behold. How could I not? His words became my mantra, his caresses my reminder. He loved me, and they didn’t.

I grew fond of being his. I was no longer Ron, but Dean’s. What he said, I did. Not a question nothing. The first time we fucked it was beautiful. At the time I would have said it was making love, but really it was fucking. I remember as he took me captive in his mouth. Fondled me until I came. He kissed me and I devoured his mouth because he told me to.

Without any hesitation I rolled over when he asked. He prepared me and I was his. I remember the feel of each of his fingers as they prodded within me, as one joined another and I opened up for him. I remember the sense of loss when his fingers left me, and the sense of fulfillment as his cock entered me. I remember how slow and gentle he was that day.

How he told me that he loved me. That no one could love me like he does. That nothing would ever be as good as this. And I ate up his words with my moans of pleasure as he fucked me into oblivion. If I wasn’t already his, that was enough to make me his forever. I told him I loved him; that I would never leave him. He asked if I thought he would ever hurt me. I told him he wasn’t capable of it. He told me I was right. That he would never harm me, and I trusted him.

The week went on, and he fucked me more often, sometimes as many as three different times a day. I was putty in his hands, he told me as much. I believed him. He told me that weekend at dinner that I was getting fat; that I should eat less. It was at dinner, always dinner that he would tell me these things; that I was fat or ugly and how no one but him loves me.

It hurt so much. But then after dinner he’d lead me off to the room, the room that became my room. The one I have grown so dependent on. You would wonder why I love the room so much when I associate it with someone as foul as Dean, but that was the only night he took me there.

He didn’t like the room. He thought it too creepy. The way everything he wanted was there. I liked it. I liked the fact that what I wanted could be there too. That was probably what scared him the most about the room. He knew that anything I wanted would be there too, and he couldn’t give me control.

That night his words hurt more than ever. He told me I was a disgusting pig. That Harry hated me because I was fat and was ruining his chances at beating Slytherin. That Hermione hated me because I wasn’t as smart as her. He went through each of my friends, and told me exactly what they hated about me. But that he loved me. That he’d never let them hurt me.

I clung to him. I could not let him go. I cried so hard. I believed every word he told me. I felt betrayed by my friends and loved by him. He began to suck me off as tears poured down my face; sobs wracking my body. I was almost to completion when he stopped. He looked at me like I was disgusting and said, “Quit your crying, Weasley. They’re not worth your tears. Only I am.” I nodded and tried to stop but I couldn’t. He got up and left, as he reached the door he turned to me and said, “When you’re done being such a crybaby you can come join me in our bed.”

It was no longer my bed but our bed. But I felt safe with him there. I tried my best to stop crying but I couldn’t. There was so much pain aching for release. My cock was aching for release too. I decided to take care of the latter and I stayed at it for a good hour. But I couldn’t get off. I couldn’t give up either. No matter how hard I tried to focus on other things I couldn’t, and thus my not-so-brilliant idea came to mind.

I needed to release my pain; maybe then I could get my sexual release. It was with that thought that a razor blade appeared on the bedside table. I tentatively reached for it and felt a sense of power course through me. I took the razor in my hand and I was mesmerized. It was beautiful. I let the sharp edge of it glide across my skin, red blood staining my wrist, releasing everything that was bundled tight inside.

It was with that sense of euphoria that I grabbed my cock again and brought myself to completion, Blood and sperm mixing on the end of my cock. It was the best orgasm I had ever had. I passed out and it was hours later when Dean found me like that. He was sure I couldn’t still be crying, and he was still quite horny.

He healed and cleaned me up. When I came to he was straddling my naked and sated form. “I love you, Ron,” he told me. And I smiled. He told me he had been worried about me. I nodded glumly and told him that I loved him too; that I knew he’d always worry about me because I was his and he loved me.

He asked me why I had done what I had and I told him. I needed to let the pain out. He smacked me. It was the only time he physically hurt me with his hands the entire time we dated. I cried out at the sting of pain. “Like that?” he asked, “Is that the kind of pain you need.” I nodded. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” he told me. “If you’re hurting inside let me know, and I’ll help you.”

I smiled at him. I thought it was a grand idea. Whenever his words, the ones he swore came from the others hurt me I would tell him. He’d ask me how I wanted to release the pain. Usually it was with a razor blade. I’d ask him to cut me. He’d always offer to heal the wound but I wouldn’t let him. He insisted on stopping the blood, he didn’t want to see anything of his soiled.

I allowed him. I knew he loved me, and if I upset him that there was nothing else for me. That he was all there was, all I needed. I, of course believed him.

It was October when he yelled at me. We had our first real fight. He told me he didn’t like that I needed to release my pain. That night I went back to the room. And I didn’t know what to do. I could do anything I wanted, but there was nothing I wanted to do.

A cookbook appeared next to me and I picked it up. I had essentially cut my eating in half because he told me that my appetite was hurting Harry, that it was hurting the team. That night I cooked. I fixed myself a real Mexican feast and began to gorge myself upon it. I felt terribly sick later, not because the food was bad. No, that was quite good. I felt sick because I had eaten too much. That I was hurting people who didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Dean’s words had become confusing. One day he’d say something and the next another; quite often contradicting himself. But I didn’t question it. I believed what he said. In the evenings I would go to the room and cook. I couldn’t eat in front of people. They all thought I was fat.

He got angry when I started gaining weight again. He started throwing things at me, bruising my skin. I learned not to cry in front of him. If I cried he only threw more at me. When he was done punishing me he would fuck me. And I loved him for it. I loved the feel of his hands and body pressing into my bruises. A reminder of how I was hurting everyone.

I would cook, we would fight, and then he’d fuck me into oblivion. Telling me that I was his. That he loved me; that he would never hurt me, and I believed him. October came and went and I was completely his. I had no reason to doubt it.

The last week of October he and I got into a fight. I wanted to tell my friends about us, about how Dean Thomas loves Ronald Weasley. About how great things were. He told me that they don’t care; that they’re not my friends because I hurt them too much. I told him we should just tell them anyways; that we shouldn’t have to hide.

“Fine,” he shouted. “Tell them. They’re only going to hate you for it. They’ll never find anyone to love them as much as I love you.” I turned around and began walking to the door. I was going to the room. Then before realization could hit me, the cauldron did. Square in the back of my head, knocking me unconscious.

I woke up a while later and I was in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was flitting about, worrying over me. I asked her what happened, why I was here. She told me that I had bumped into a shelf in the potions classroom and that a cauldron had fallen from the shelf. I didn’t remember having been in the potions room. I asked her how she knew and she told me that Mr. Thomas had brought me here and had explained what had happened.

Dean said it was so and I believed it, he had never lied about anything before, why should he start now. I nodded at Pomfrey and she continued working. I was tired and just wanted to sleep, but every time my eyes closed she was there prodding me awake.

It was that night, when I was sitting up that everything clicked. I hadn’t been in the potions classroom. I had been in my room, in our room. The next day I avoided Dean and he hunted me down, finding me in the room; my room; the place that I was safe. I followed him back to our room because he told me to. I didn’t question him, even though I should have. He had lied about the cauldron, what else had he lied about? The rest of the week was hard. I was beginning to question what he said, but not to his face.

November first arrived and we fought again. I wanted to tell our friends. He reminded me that I had no one but him. I told him he was lying, that I still had friends. “Fine,” he told me, “go find your friends. Tell them everything, but don’t ever come back to me.”

I nodded and left for my room. I spent most of the next two weeks there. I couldn’t tell my friends; if they were even still my friends. At night he’d still slip into our bed and he’d fuck me. Sometimes I complied, it was easier that way. Other nights I would put up a fight. I was no longer his. He had no right to touch me. It was those nights that he would hurt me; with his hands. He would smack me, beat me, and rough me up. His hands no longer caressed as he fucked me, they tore at my skin, leaving dark welts and bruises.

After he was done fucking me he would leave me there sobbing. I would wait until I heard his breathing slow down and I would grab my wand and heal the wounds. No one saw, no one knew.

A few days ago I broke my silence and began speaking to my friends again. They had missed me; I had missed them. I began telling them a little about what had happened. They listened to me; they comforted me. I had even made a new friend in the process. I had become friends with Draco Malfoy. A friendship I never had expected to find, but he was with Harry and if I was going to keep my friendship, I needed to be kind to Malfoy.

That plan didn’t work; he has become my confidante and a great friend. The other day after showing me a movie I spilled more about Dean than I had ever planned on, since then I’ve spilled more. But that night I was quite upset after the talk. I didn’t want Dean to hurt me, so I crawled into bed with Seamus.

I slept better that night than I had since the beginning of term. The next night I joined Seamus in his bed with his permission and slept even better. Then the following night I couldn’t bear to put him off. I just couldn’t stand to force him into sharing his bed with me. I slept in my own bed that night.

I woke up in the hospital wing. I wasn’t sore and had no clue why I was there. Madame Pomfrey kept giving me worried looks. I was completely confused. Later that day Dean ended up there too, after I had been released.

That was when I received the owl from Pomfrey. She told me I was to report to McGonagall that evening to explain to her why I was in the hospital that morning. I was going to say it would be impossible as I didn’t know, however the post-script informed me of what had happened.

Pomfrey was on her way back to the hospital wing and had spotted Dean walking towards Gryffindor Tower. She noticed that there were wet footprints leading up to him, and leading towards her from the main entry. She followed the footprints towards the door and outside. She found me lying there in just my boxers in the snow. There were cuts and bruises marring my flesh, and traces of a thorough fucking flaked across my skin.

Had I been conscious to the world, I’m sure I would have blushed in embarrassment at her finding me in such a state. I’m surprised she let me leave the hospital wing at all, but it seems all worked out fine.

Last night I hid from the world in my room. I didn’t speak to McGonagall like I was supposed to. This morning I went and told McGonagall the bare essentials and she helped me out. Dean Thomas will be punished and if anyone tries to harm me physically again, they will receive exactly what they have inflicted upon me.

Well, that is until McGonagall releases me from the Reflectus charm. I’m not quite sure what Dean’s punishment will entail, but McGonagall informed me that it would be quite worthy of what he had put me through. I don’t think anything could measure up to what he’s done to me, but whatever punishment McGonagall has up her sleeve will have to suffice.

Life is finally looking up and I am rid of the leech that is known as Dean. I still find myself believing some of the things he told me, but those wounds will heal with time. I have only just begun my path to healing, though it seems like it should have happened ages ago. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s a step I must take.

The lack of someone whispering lies in my ear will be a nice change, even if at the time I believed it was the truth. Not being someone’s object will be nice; I belong to no one but myself. I must repeat this to myself until I believe it. It is my new mantra. I may not know exactly where it all started, but I know where it ended.


End file.
